


St. Daniel of Weehawken

by imaginarycircus



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: M/M, Pining, UST
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-04
Updated: 2012-09-04
Packaged: 2017-11-13 13:59:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/504255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imaginarycircus/pseuds/imaginarycircus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Teeny ficlet. Steve and Danny on a quiet, sunny afternoon spent on the couch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	St. Daniel of Weehawken

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sheafrotherdon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheafrotherdon/gifts).



The TV is on, but they've turned the sound off. Danny is asleep, listing toward the arm of the couch--his leg is propped up on the coffee table and there is a bag of melted ice under his knee. The pain-killers are doing their thing.

Steve is drowsy, but can't bring himself to close his eyes all the way. He peers through his lashes so that Danny is graced with golden halos--like he's a medieval saint very nearly drooling on Steve's couch. The saint with the gimpy leg. Which one was that? Was there one? St. Daniel of Weehawken, patron saint of malls. Steve needs sleep. He hasn't slept in almost two days and the beer and exhaustion are making him loopy.

There is this thing between them. It sits on the couch like a buddy they drink beers with, the solid weight of its thigh a warm weight against Steve's. He thinks that maybe he could slip into that invisible body, like slipping into the water to swim. His body would know what to do, because his brain sure doesn't. He's thought about it so many times, reaching out and taking, but his body doesn't know how to slide a hand behind Danny's head to tilt his face up for a kiss. Mostly Steve doesn't know how Danny will react. Because it's going to happen. Steve is no coward. He has to try. Eventually.

Steve's back hurts though the three beers he drank certainly took the edge off. He moves gingerly onto the empty couch cushion between them into that presence, which is as viscous and tangible as warm oil. Sunlight slices across that section of the couch picking out the red in Steve's leg hairs. He is hyper-aware of the sun warmed leather on the small of his back where his shirt has ruched up, the rise and fall of Danny's belly as he takes deep, relaxed breaths, the dust motes swirling in the sunlight, the smell of Ben Gay, and beer, and the ocean. He won't touch Danny while he's sleeping. He doesn't have that permission. Yet. Steve's fingers curl at his sides and they don't even twitch because he has more control than that.

He leans his head back and lets the afternoon sunlight, the beer in his blood, and the rhythm of Danny's breathing lull him to sleep. And for now it's enough to be close and not touch.


End file.
